


How we begin

by OrphanText



Category: Magic Kaito
Genre: Crushes, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-07-14 05:52:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7156196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrphanText/pseuds/OrphanText
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hakuba calls in his favour from KID.</p><p>It's not what KID thinks it is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How we begin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cloudy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cloudy/gifts).



> Without Sammy this would not have been possible. So thank you Sammy for all the suggestions and fixes you made to this fic. You are incredible.
> 
> Thank you to Cloudy for his idle prompt - "write saguru realizing he actually is at risk at failing a test in some subject like Japanese history or something and winding up utilizing a favor Kaito owes him to help him study"
> 
> You gave birth to a monster, Cloudy.
> 
> Most people would pick blackmail but not our dumb son. Extra omitted scene about Eurovision up on tumblr.
> 
> Any remaining mistakes are mine.

The phone call came through on a Thursday, just three hours after the school bell had rung. Kaito steps away from the florist's counter for a moment, and digs his phone out from his bag, answering it on the third ring.

"Hakuba."

"Kuroba-kun." Hakuba sounds stiff, uneasiness translating over even through the barrier of technology. "Is now a convenient time to talk?"

"Of course." He gestures at the florist to put aside his purchases for now, and carefully steps out of the way of other customers to take the call. "What is it?"

"I'm calling in my favour," Hakuba says without preamble, Kaito stiffening immediately, what little good mood he has deserting him at his classmate's words.

"So soon?" His lips twist up into a smile on instinct - KID's smile, voice falling back into KID's lower timbre and easy cadence, constructing distance. “You make up your mind very quickly, Tantei-san.”

Through the phone, taut silence meets his words. "You promised not to ask." Hakuba's voice is tight when he speaks again, and Kaito's mind throws up several possibilities of things that Hakuba may ask for.

"Fine, Tantei-san. I did promise. Spill, then. Do bear in mind that I am still human and that anything outside of my ability - "

"It will be. I - uh." Hakuba breaks off to cough, embarrassed now, and Kaito feels himself perk up with mild interest. Something personal, then? He knows that Hakuba had been watching him for at least a week now, always looking as though there is something that he dearly wants to say, brow constantly in a furrow with the problem of whatever he is facing. "I need your help."

"Obviously, or otherwise we wouldn't be speaking today. Get on with it, Hakuba."

"I need your help with Japanese History." It comes out in a rush, words spilling into each other, Hakuba’s words taking Kaito entirely by surprise as he continues to stutter on the other end of the line. "I - "

"Japanese History? You mean the quiz we have coming up at the end of next week? You need help with  _ that _ ?" Incredulity colours his voice, and Kaito nearly laughs before turning it into a cough at the last second, avoiding disaster. Hakuba has been consistently top of the class for nearly every single subject ever since his transfer in, and the idea that the resident class genius needs his help for Japanese History... well.  _ Well _ .

"You promised." Hakuba says sullenly, sounding embarrassed now. "If you think you can't, then - "

"I never said that." Kaito cuts in quickly. "Are you free today?"

"Today? I'm at home right now."

"Text me your address. I'm in Beika right now, but I can be over once I'm done with my stuff. You do have your textbooks with you, don't you? I left all my stuff back in school." Wandering back to the cashier now, much more relaxed now that he knows it isn't anything serious, Kaito throws the florist an easy smile. 

"I do. I have Keiko-kun's notes, as well."

"I wouldn't say toss them, but they're not very helpful. Uhh... Just text me your address. See you in half an hour." Hanging up, he pulls out his wallet as the lady wraps his purchases, before coming to a decision and getting her attention once more. "Excuse me - I’m sorry to trouble you, but may I get one of those sunflowers, please?"

::

Kaito arrives at 4PM sharp, pouring himself into Hakuba's computer chair, scattering stationery over Hakuba's carefully laid out notes. Hakuba says nothing, but he does startle when Kaito produces a large, yellow something out of nowhere and shoves it into his face.

"For you," Kaito says, already reaching for his textbook. "Now, what do you need help with?"

“For me?” Hakuba eyes the sunflower warily for a brief moment before finally accepting it, examining the bloom with unwarranted suspicion. “I… thank you?”

“Put it in a vase before you kill it. It’s just a flower.” 

“Right. I’ll… get you some tea? Juice, maybe?” Hakuba looks terribly awkward, standing stiffly near the bookshelf in his own bedroom, sunflower in hand and eyeing the door as though he dearly wants to leave despite his original request for help from Kaito. For a moment, Kaito considers moving the venue to somewhere public - a library, for example, but he decides just as quickly that he doesn’t really care. “Water?”

“I don’t really need anything.” Careful to hide his amusement from Hakuba, Kaito leans forward to snag one of Hakuba’s stacks of papers. “Are these our old test papers?”

“...Yes.” Hakuba looks immediately cagey, and Kaito scowls at the abysmal marks that he’s been getting for the past few months. It’s a surprise that Aki-sensei hadn’t said anything, particularly when Hakuba’s grades for the class has been on a steady downward slide since mid-March. “I know it’s terrible, so - “

“So?” Kaito doesn’t keep the irritation from his voice, shuffling through them quickly. “Geez! What took you so long? If you were having trouble, you should have spoken up way earlier! We’re - what, nearly at the finals now? Calculator!” 

He opens up Hakuba’s files, snatching up a pencil as he quickly calculates what Hakuba’s grades are at the moment, hissing a curse under his breath when the calculator gives him the answer. By the time Hakuba returns with a tray of drinks, he’s already drawn up a chart for their planned work progress up until the finals, Hakuba eyeing the taped together pieces of A4 papers nervously. It’s visually intimidating, Kaito knows, the bright coloured lines crisscrossing each other into some sort of weird map, but it shouldn’t be any more intimidating than the near failing grade Hakuba is holding at the moment.

“We have a lot of work to do,” he informs Hakuba primly as the other sets out the jug of water and empty glasses. “I’m not going to go easy on you just because you asked. Your marks are  _ terrible _ .”

“Yes, I know,” Hakuba says testily, taking the other chair as Kaito pushes over March’s test papers to him, trying his best not to wince at all the bold red marks all over his paper. “You can stop repeating it.”

“Well, it’s very novel, you being bad at something.” Kaito shrugs, kicking back in the chair and stealing one of Hakuba’s cushions. “Either way, you won’t be when I’m through with you, so you had better prepare yourself.”

“Is a week of preparation not enough?” Hakuba mutters, putting on a pair of spectacles that has Kaito whistling, drawing a look of ire from him. “What?”

“Nothing. Just.” Kaito spreads his hands. “For someone so clever, you’re quite dumb.”

“ _ Shut up _ .”

::

For all of his acerbic remarks and casual insults, Kuroba is a surprisingly good teacher. Despite the lack of attention that he pays in class, Kuroba choosing to use the time to doodle on the corner of his worksheets or worse, read manga under his desk, he knows the class material thoroughly. As such, he has devised his own method of memorising it, passing it on to Saguru immediately when he realises that going through the chapters with him isn’t working. It’s been about two weeks of them studying together over at Saguru’s house after school, Kuroba occasionally dropping over on Saturdays with extra materials, and they are making remarkably good progress for such a short period of time. He’s still lost during class, of course, but Kuroba assures him that he will catch up in no time at their rate, and advises him to have patience.

“You’ll be more than ready by the time finals come about,” Kuroba had said dismissively, cramming pocky sticks into his mouth. “Now stop worrying and  _ start studying _ .”

He would just have to take his word for it, then.

Saguru flips to the next page of his workbook, timer ticking away at his elbow and pens in the answer to question 10. For the past twenty minutes, Kuroba has been staring at him from the opposite side of the table, chin propped on one hand and slouching over the surface of his table like a lazy housecat, empty chip wrappers scattered on the floor around him. The flash of light whenever it catches the barrel of the pen he is spinning over the back of his hand is distracting, but Saguru can ignore that.

"I'm not counting this as one of your favours," Kuroba says suddenly, Saguru’s pencil skidding over the page, startling. "I thought you should know."

A brief silence. Five seconds tick by before Saguru is able to manage a response. "If you think - "

"No, not really? We're just friends helping each other out. Aoko'll have my head if we let the famous high school detective of Ekoda fail a subject." Kuroba slouches forwards, pressing his cheek to the table until all Saguru can see is the mop of soft brown hair, pen clattering off his hand. "At least that's what I think."

"Friends." The word feels strange in his mouth when it is applied to both Kuroba and himself, but it isn't... bad. With practice, he is sure that it can be something he is familiar with easily.

"What, do you not want to be?" Affronted, Kuroba sniffs, his shoulders tensing just the slightest bit. "Whatever. Classmates, then. Acquaintances. Two people who have the unfortunate luck to know each other by name."

"No, I... " He stares down at his work, countless pages of notes in Kuroba's careful handwriting just for him, his... friend now using class time to collate the material so they can go through it again together after school. He tries to imagine himself doing that for someone else, dedicating a large part of his own personal time to bettering a classmate’s grades as devotedly as Kuroba is doing. "If it’s alright… I would like to be your friend very much." An awkward pause. “Please.”

He's startled into yelping when Kuroba suddenly sits up, leaning forwards and putting a hand into his hair, ruffling it up roughly.

"You're an idiot," Kuroba says shortly as he settles back, but the tips of his ears are red. It’s infectious, and Saguru fears that he is blushing when he feels his cheeks tingling. A quick check into the reflective surface of his phone tells him otherwise. “Hurry up. You only have five minutes left.”

“You told me I could use the favour however I wanted to,” Saguru says, just for the sake of it, already returning his attention back to the questions. He’ll finish them in four, just to spite Kuroba.

“Yes, and you’re really stupid for thinking that I wouldn’t help out because of whatever reasons you’ve got listed out.” Kuroba puts a hand into a chip bag, rummages around, and sighs in disappointment when it proves to be empty. “You don’t need to call in favours just for things like this,” he adds, gentler now. “It doesn’t… people don’t work that way. I’m not like that.”

There’s hurt beneath Kuroba’s nonchalance, and Saguru feels the sharp sting of guilt for having assumed otherwise. He had good reason to think that Kuroba would say no - whether it be due to a lack of time, or simply because they are who they are, two people who barely talk to each other in class and who only have criticisms for each other when they do. There’s no reason for Kuroba to want to help someone who only wants to put his alter-ego into prison, after all.

(Unfairly, but not unreasonably, he had assumed that Kuroba had hated him. Perhaps hate was too strong a word - dislike, probably.

He doesn’t know Kuroba as well as he believed he did, after all.)

Saguru finishes the questions in three, and sets to thinking.

::

“Do you have time today?”

Kaito slurps his noodles noisily, watching Hakuba for clues as he consults his mental schedule for the week. They’re both out getting ramen for lunch after class, Hakuba insisting on paying for the both of them after getting the results of their mock exams back, his grades pushed from an E to a B. With the month that they have between now and the actual final itself, Kaito is more than confident that he will be able to push it up to an A.

“More studying? You’ve been doing quite well on the quizzes, so I think you can afford to take a break for now. What about your other subjects?” He steals a piece of Hakuba’s bamboo shoots, all of which Hakuba seems intent on either not eating, or leaving for last. “Pass me the garlic, please.”

Hakuba passes him the container of minced garlic, and there is nothing that Kaito can glean from his expression. “Actually, I thought that perhaps we could do something else other than studying over at mine,” he says innocently.

“Like?” Feeding Watson? Dusting his cabinets for him? Kaito frowns. Hakuba’s house is large, nearly as imposing as Akako’s without the more-than-likely-to-be-haunted aesthetic. He hasn’t paid much attention to other parts of the house that aren’t the bedroom or the kitchen, so he has no idea what else Hakuba thinks they can do there. Knowing the nut, it will probably be some kind of Sherlock Holmes marathon, and seeing as Hakuba has now relegated him into the Friend group, he probably feels comfortable forcing all of his hobbies onto Kaito. Just last week, Hakuba had approached him over lunch with some science article about skin slippage when Kaito had been trying to  _ eat _ . Clearly his friend does not get out much.

“You’ll see,” Hakuba says cryptically. “So, are you in?”

There is no point in taking the boring option when he can choose the more exciting one, is there?

::

“-and this is the  _ other _ study,” Hakuba concludes, Kaito quickly hiding a yawn by turning it into an awkward stretch. “It’s never occurred to me that I’ve never given you the tour of the house.”

Probably the clever thing to do, Kaito thinks, and instead says, ”I rather you gave me a tour of your garden and where you keep Watson.”

“We can do that another day, if you want to.” Hakuba leads the way back to the living room, and gestures for him to settle in. His housekeeper is out, again, and Kaito wanders along the perimeter of the room, peering into glass cabinets at random. The contents aren’t particularly homey, similar to the kind of things real estate put out in show flats to attract potential buyers, but then the Hakubas don’t seem to be home often, either. “What kind of snacks do you want?”

“Didn’t we get those chips from Seico earlier? Aren’t those our snacks?”

“Obviously not,” Hakuba says, a hint of mischief in his voice, Kaito narrowing his eyes immediately. “You can’t eat chips for Eurovision.”

“Why not?” Then, “What’s Eurovision?”

“Ah.” Kaito does not trust the smile he has on for one bit. “You’ll see.”

“I’m definitely seeing,” Kaito mutters as Hakuba leaves to fetch the snacks and drinks, squinting down at a bright yellow copy of  _ Fantastic Friendship for Dummies _ shoved amongst the medical and science texts in the shelves. “ _ Definitely  _ seeing.”

He settles himself on the sofa with a pilfered cushion from Hakuba’s bedroom as Hakuba loads the low tea table with plates of food that Kaito only remotely recognises, bringing in soda and dessert on his last trip that they have to leave on the floor because they have run out of space on the tea table. Kaito draws his legs up onto the sofa, wary of Hakuba’s enthusiasm, finding it mildly intimidating.

“Is there some sort of famine that I’m not informed of?” Kaito gestures with his hand, tries to, but the glass of soda in his hand sloshes dangerously so he stops. “Why do we need so much food?”

“It’s  _ Eurovision _ ,” says Hakuba, as though that explains everything. “We won’t have time to get up for the bathroom, much less get more food.”

There is a few seconds of silence as Kaito considers it. “I don’t get it,” he says finally.

Hakuba doesn’t pause as he mucks around the wide screen tv with the remote, pulling up past recordings that he’s made on the machine.

“No one pauses Eurovision,” he says seriously. “ _ No one _ .”

::

Kaito swears off watching TV with Hakuba ever again.

::

As their finals pick up, Kuroba begins to spend more of his time over at Saguru’s place, armed with textbooks and heavy files as well as a DS console that he pokes at every hour and a half. Saguru doesn’t mind, only ushering him into the living room when there isn’t enough space in his bedroom for Kuroba to spread his work out on.

Even now after having spent time working together, Saguru still isn’t completely sure of the nature of his friendship with Kuroba; the other boy is like a cat who comes and goes as he pleases, never quite invested but not completely uninterested either. He’s sweet one day and cold the next, to the point that Saguru is left at a loss as to where exactly he stands in their relationship. When not in public, Kuroba is a quiet, almost private person, content to observe, and Saguru aches to know what exactly are the thoughts that spin in his head. Kuroba talks when prompted, but he doesn’t exactly share, not even when Saguru takes the initiative to do so, the boy only making noncommittal sounds as Saguru tells him little tidbits of his life before Japan, and Saguru isn’t ever sure if he’s boring him. There are no cues to follow, no prompts, and Saguru does his best to not be too overbearing lest he frighten off his first actual friend in Japan with his own occasionally overly zealous personality. 

Kuroba never protests when he brings up a new topic or an activity. In fact, he usually has no opinion about it whatsoever, but whenever the television is mentioned, the batteries in his remote will go mysteriously missing. There’s never any indication of him actually  _ enjoying  _ it, of course, so Saguru can only assume that Kuroba will speak up if he finds it too boring. Without further indication from Kuroba, he dares not try to be too familiar with him, always careful to keep some distance in between.

Now, the boy is sleeping curled up under several pieces of worksheets, legs hanging off his sofa with a cushion on his face. Briefly, Saguru considers waking him, but eventually decides against it and continues studying, ignoring the small voice in his head telling him to move closer to him. Between the amount of schoolwork that they have and Kuroba’s own illegal pastime (job?), he doesn’t have much time for himself, much less for Saguru and yet, here he is, carving out huge chunks out of what little resources he has, staying with him just because Saguru had asked, not as a favour but because he  _ wants  _ to.

Saguru had once told him that a B grade is more than enough for him, not wanting to trouble Kuroba too much, but he had only scoffed and slapped down a new timetable for him together with questions that he had compiled together on his own.

“Nothing less than an A for you,” Kuroba had said, snapping his fingers. “Get to it.”

‘But they’re my grades,’ Saguru thinks. Even days after the fact, it still feels unreal whenever he stops to think about it - about Kuroba’s dedication to this.

Kuroba’s own results from the mock exam are peeking out of his files, something that Saguru has been noticing for the past two hours, itching for a look but at the same time not wanting to offend. Now, however, Kuroba is asleep, and he tiptoes over to where the file is lying, lifting up the pages carefully for a quick look. He won’t do anything with it, of course. He’s just… curious.

To say that it’s not quite what he expected… well. Saguru takes a second, closer look, and quietly slides the sheet back under the cover of the file, returning back to his seat on the floor. Kuroba’s grades are consistently average, peaking at a B for one or two semesters before levelling out once more. There are As, too, but never for more than two subjects at once, and never across two semesters. Given Kuroba’s own intelligence and aptitude, it seems very much impossible, particularly when he is able to get Saguru’s own grades up over a short period of time. He remembers Kuroba’s quick work of calculating his grades, and wonders if his assessment of him is more off the mark than he had originally assumed.

On the sofa, Kuroba sits up abruptly, startling Saguru as he nearly falls off the sofa in the process, hurling the cushion away from him. Eyes wide and distinctly panicking, Kuroba seems to be gasping for air before his eyes land on Saguru and he visibly calms, shuddering. Not knowing how to react, Saguru only stares back calmly, still in the position of stretching his arms and leg out on the floor.

“Okay?” he asks once Kuroba is breathing more regularly, a flush suffusing his cheeks as he stares at the cushion he’s thrown right across the room. “I thought of waking you up earlier, but you looked like you needed the sleep.”

“Yeah,” Kuroba grumbles, scrubbing a hand over his face and then through his hair, clearly frustrated. “Late night studying, you know.”

“Sorry.” Saguru carefully leaves it vague, resuming his slow stretch as Kuroba slides off the sofa to retrieve the cushion. Sorry for taking up so much of your time; sorry for accidentally catching you off guard having a nightmare? He leaves it up to Kuroba’s own interpretation. Either will be fine.

“Right. Okay. I think I’m - Hey.” Kuroba straightens up, cushion under one arm and a string of - ah. “What’s this?”

“Stress-relief?” Saguru feels his cheeks heat as Kuroba pulls out the long string of popcorn kernels and dried flowers from where he’s knocked it out of the box with his pillow. “I thought it would be nice to redecorate my bedroom.”

“ _ Re _ decorate your bedroom?” Kuroba’s brow crinkles into a little frown. “You mean your bedroom is decorated?”

“I tried my best,” Saguru says testily. Most of the decorations are simply little wooden carvings he’s picked up from a lady in a market in France and which he’s now stuck onto his windowsill. And the deerstalker on top of his bookshelf, of course. “Don’t criticise me.”

“Huh.” Kuroba pulls the string around his shoulders and runs the kernels through the spaces in his fingers. “Hey, are these my flowers?”

“No criticising.”

“I’m not criticising, it’s just a question.”

“Yes. What of it.”

“ _ I’m not criticising you _ .” Kuroba gently touches one of the crinkly petals of a gerbera, and his lips curve up into a soft smile. “Nice.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that, so he doesn’t, instead fumbling with his set-squares the same way feelings inspired by seeing that smile on Kuroba’s face fumble inside his chest .

“I’m pretty much done for the day, so,” Kuroba packs the string away back into the box, carefully replacing the lid and setting it back on the chair with more care than is actually needed. “I’m going home.”

“Shall I see you out?”

“No need. I’ll probably just get dinner over at Aoko’s. She’s been making noise about some really fresh radish she’s gotten as a deal at the market, so apparently I have to look at that and eat it to keep her happy.” 

“I see,” says Saguru, as Kuroba crams his belongings back into his bag without looking at them. “Well. Thanks for today.”

“Whatever.” He can’t read Kuroba’s expression when his back is turned, and he wants to know what kind of face he is making when he sounds like that - coarse, dismissive, a little angry. ‘I wouldn’t use it against you,’ Saguru thinks. “All I did was to sleep today.”

“It still counts,” Saguru says softly, Kuroba slinging the bag over his shoulder and checking the room once more for anything he’s missed. “I’ll see you Monday?”

“Monday,” Kuroba agrees. He leaves.

Baaya walks in not three minutes after Kuroba has left, and seeing as Saguru’s only heard the front door opening once, Kuroba’s probably run into her while leaving. Taking one look at the teasing smile that she has on, Saguru drops his set-squares and groans. “Please don’t.”

“He seems an awfully nice boy,” Baaya says, taking off her hat and setting aside her handbag. “Very polite, too.”

“Baaya, please.”

“What is his name? If you needed me out of the house, you could have just told me, Bocchama.” The words are scolding, but she only sounds amused, and Saguru hides his face in his hands. “When will he be coming over, next? We should make him some cookies, don’t you think? Or perhaps, an invitation to dinner?”

“I’ll… ask him,” Saguru says weakly, because he’s never been able to say no to the woman who has looked after him for the most part of his childhood. “He’s Kuroba Kaito.”

“Kuroba-kun?” Baaya’s eyebrows goes up, and Saguru stifles another groan. “Isn’t that the boy you’re always on about? The -”

“Yes, I know.” Saguru pinches at the bridge of his nose unhappily. “I was… wrong in my assumptions. He’s… not. He’s nothing like that. Not quite so.”

“Ah.” She makes a noise of quiet understanding, and then there is the soft rustling of fabric as Baaya joins him on the floor, pulling him into a sideways hug. He leans into her, now having to bend down much lower just to rest his head on her shoulder. Saguru is much taller now than when he was ten, no longer the same little boy he’d been in a too-large, empty house. Baaya’s perfume is still the same soft floral scent that she prefers, and he sighs when she cards her fingers through his hair. “You’ll work it out, Saguru. We can’t always be right about everything, and people are very complicated. Give them time, and even the worst of us will change.”

“I hurt him,” Saguru admits quietly. “I think. With my own thoughtlessness. What do I do? What if I’m wrong about other things too?”

“You won’t be wrong forever. He’ll correct your misassumptions, won’t he? It will be fine. Humans aren’t beings set in stone, Saguru.” Baaya fondly presses a kiss to the top of his head. “We aren’t defined by our mistakes but by what we do to correct them. You are friends with this Kuroba-kun, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Then it will be alright.” Her smile is reassuring, and Saguru finds himself smiling back despite himself, Baaya patting his hands fondly. “Now, how about baking him some cookies? I’m sure he will love some - “

“ _ Baaya _ .” 

Grades carefully kept to an average, kinder than the cold dismissive front that he keeps, perhaps a better understanding of human nature than Saguru will ever achieve. If not for ego - then why?

He wonders what it is that Kuroba had been dreaming about.

::

They’re both assigned to the same class again for the next academic year. As per Kuroba’s prediction, he gets straight As on his report card. Students send him curious looks upon the putting up of the results list, and Saguru forces a smile at them, uncomfortable with their attention, Kuroba giving him a congratulatory slap on the back as he walks past him. 

With their finals over, Saguru is now faced with the problem of how he will be spending the holidays. Does he stay in Japan, or does he fly to London? There isn’t much to do other than taking up cases and general sightseeing, and for the first time Saguru isn’t looking forward to either. He’s still ruminating on it when he nearly runs into Kuroba, who had apparently been waiting for him just around the corner.

“So,” Kuroba drawls, tapping around on his mobile phone. “Congratulations, top student Hakuba Saguru.”

“Thank you.” He pauses. “I couldn’t have done it without you. So thank you.”

“Ew.” Kuroba grimaces, making a show of shuddering. “Stop being so formal. Get me an ice cream and I’ll call us even. There are already rumours that you’ll be running for Class President next year. What do you think?”

Gesturing for Kuroba to walk with him, Saguru taps his chin in thought. Kuroba watches him for a second or two before unconsciously beginning to imitate him, and so he stops. “The position is likely better suited to someone else who isn’t me,” Saguru says finally, sincere.

“Why?” The question is blunt and to the point, but Kuroba clearly means no harm by his query, genuinely curious. Saguru sighs, thinking of how best to frame his answer as though it isn’t apparent already. If he didn’t know better, he would have thought that Kuroba was taking the piss out of him.

“The class president is in charge of reporting to the teacher, as well as general class activities and communicating key information to the class, yes?”

“Right. And?”

“And,” Saguru stares at the space before him, trying not to slump. “I’m not very good with people.”

“Oh. And here I was, thinking that you had a legit reason.” Kuroba sounds bored, and Saguru pointedly does  _ not  _ bristle at him. “Che.”

“It is a valid reason for me.” He tries to keep the ice from his voice, but fails anyway. “Besides, I may not have the time for all the extra duties.”

“Now you’re just giving yourself excuses. You don’t have to be good with people in order to, you know… take charge of them.” Kuroba waves his hands demonstratively in front of him, whatever that is supposed to mean. “The class will teach you. I’ll help you. If you want to be President, I mean.” Kuroba casts a quick glance sideways, then continues in a lower voice: “You’re not as socially incompetent as you think you are, Hakuba.”

“You, Vice Class President?” Saguru snorts. “I know what I am, but thanks for trying to make me feel better. You don’t want to run for any of the class positions, Kuroba. Be honest.”

“So rude.” Kuroba sighs dramatically. “And here you have all the girls fooled into thinking that you’re the bee's knees with your foreign heritage and charming manners.”

“I do not - “

The bantering continues all the way up to the shoe lockers, and Kuroba waggles his eyebrows lecherously at him when Saguru discovers a pink envelope lying atop his shoes. Shoving him aside with a well placed elbow to the side, Saguru swaps his indoor shoes for his outdoor ones. He takes a deep breath - “So I guess I’ll be seeing you next year?”

“Next year?” Kuroba frowns. “You’re flying off again?”

Saguru hesitates for a moment too long, and Kuroba sends him a  _ look _ . “Stay. If you don’t have plans for London or France or whatever expensive place you usually fly to, stay. There are festivals and things and Christmas. You really should take advantage of your status as an international student more.”

“But I don’t - “

“Since when has that stopped you?” Kuroba bends down to better put on his shoes. “If I were studying in France, I would be so busy during the school holidays. I wouldn’t have the time to run off to Japan at all.”

It is easy to imagine Kuroba wandering amongst one of the many colourful markets in France, surrounded by colours and sights and sounds so very different from what they have here in Japan. For a moment, the idea sweeps him away - taking Kuroba to the many museums dotting the country, visiting the little, hidden shops tucked away out of the main streets, showing him the hospitality of the locals, teaching him their language just as Kuroba had taught him Japanese slang. Desire, sudden and strong enough to make him dizzy swamps him, and Saguru swallows against it, his gut lurching. Kuroba would fit right in, he thinks, leaning on the lockers for momentary support. He wonders if he would be as fascinated as Saguru himself is with the rich cultural history of the country, wonders if he would sigh and laugh as openly as he seldom does with him, lips stained with the juice of fruits and curiosity jewel bright even amongst the vivid colours. A train from France down to the rest of Europe, if they have the time -

“Hakuba?” Saguru jerks back violently when Kuroba snaps fingers in front of his face, and struggles to keep any of what he is feeling from showing on his face, certain that all of what he is feeling right now can only be wildly inappropriate. “Are you listening?”

“Yes.” He replies immediately, heart still hammering away in his chest. “No.”

“I said,” Kuroba says patiently. “I’ll show you around over the holidays. It’s not like there’s anyone else that I can spend it with. You’ll at least prove to be more interesting than the late night variety shows and an endless supply of mikan.”

It’s far from what he wants, but at this moment, Saguru will take whatever he can get.

::

The slow afternoon after the heist finds Kuroba sprawled out all over his bed, loudly reading Saguru all of the love letters he’s gotten through the school year and hasn’t had the heart to dispose of yet. He really should have done that sooner, Saguru thinks, ears burning as Kuroba coos at the letter. All he had wanted to do today was to have a long sleep in, not to have Kuroba knocking on his front door at eleven in the morning. Groaning, he shifts to better pillow his head on the desk and resolutely closes his eyes, determined to pretend that Kuroba isn’t here.

“Ah,” Kuroba says, and the odd tone immediately sets off alarms inside of his head. “Can I ask a question?”

He dearly wants to say no, just to spite him for waking him up at eleven (albeit with delicious breakfast), but he also knows Kuroba’s personality rather well by now, and grunts in lieu of a yes.

“Right, here goes.” Kuroba clears his throat. “Have you ever kissed a boy? Or thought of kissing one, if you haven’t?”

Kuroba’s curiosity will be the death of him one day.

“I don’t see why I should answer that.” Grumpily, he pulls his pillow over his head so Kuroba won’t see that the back of his neck is red. The answer is yes, of course. Back in London, when he’d been on the cusp of puberty, clumsily kissing a boy two years his senior and mistakenly thinking that admiration equates to love. The experience had him shying away from anything quite similar for months after, although he’d been coaxed to try again for a much successful second time, drunk on alcohol and tipsy on gentle, encouraging words, the both of them exchanging shy, covert glances when everyone else’s backs were turned. Nothing had come of it, and by the end of the school year, they had stopped talking to each other. Still, that had been the confirmation Saguru needed, although it would also be nice if his heart learned to stop falling for just about anyone who showed him slightest bit of affection.

Well, he doesn’t see why Kuroba needs to know all  _ that _ .

A slight pitch in the back of his chair is the only warning he gets before the pillow is lifted off his head, then Kuroba is leaning down and in, dry lips pressing chastely against the corner of his own. It doesn’t register immediately, Saguru blinking at him and going cross-eyed before his mind kicks itself into gear and he freezes up, mind blanking, panicking as to what to do in this situation.

There’s a quiet chuckle, and Saguru finally notices the camera phone that Kuroba has pointed at them, held up in his other hand.

“Vine,” Kuroba says innocently, and starts running when Saguru snatches up the pillow to give chase. “Thanks!”

“ _ Stop running _ \- “ Bare feet running against wooden floorboards, Saguru ducking past Baaya who has emerged from her room at the commotion, her eyebrows disappearing into her hairline as he goes by, Kuroba laughing loudly from just around the corner. Saguru curses loudly when he accidentally catches the corner of a cabinet with his hip. Kuroba turns at the sound, alarm on his face and Saguru seizes the chance to tackle him to the ground, knocking the breath out of the both of them and then it’s a mad scrambling from there on. The boy is still laughing madly when he snatches the phone from him, the oversized imp. “Kuroba!”

“Oh my god,” Kuroba wheezes, completely out of breath and red in the face, pausing now and then to gasp for air only to collapse into laughter all over again. “ _ Oh my god _ . You should have seen your face.”

His face flushes red. “There’s nothing to see about it,” he growls, pinning Kuroba to the floor with his weight. “Where is it?”

“It’s too late,” Kuroba’s eyes are bright with mirth, shoulders still shaking with laughter. “It’s live.”

He bursts out laughing again when Saguru throws the phone back at him in disgust, locked out of Kuroba’s account without his password, and the laughter turns into a satisfyingly shrill screech when he begins to attack his sides, Kuroba flailing helplessly under him. There’s more squealing, then Kuroba freezes, inhaling sharply as his expression contracts in pain. It’s like someone had dumped a bucket of cold water over him - Saguru immediately pulls back, hands hovering just an inch above him, remembering the odd smooth patch under Kuroba’s shirt that he’d felt when he had been running fingers up and down his sides. They fall into an immediate silence, Kuroba panting quietly and looking at him now with something like resignation lurking in his eyes, waiting, waiting for him to say something damning, and he shudders when Saguru carefully, gently, rests his hand over the bandage. If he asks, now, he doesn’t think he will lie. Not with words - Kuroba will never admit as much with his mouth, but he doesn’t need to, not with the great amount of reluctance he’s projecting with his body.

“I wish you’d let me help,” Saguru murmurs quietly, Kuroba’s lashes dipping low as he looks away (guilt? Saguru doesn’t dare assume), a hand coming up to cover his own, pressing it down more firmly against himself. He hadn’t seen anyone get close to KID last night, much less hurt him. The failure tastes like ashes over his tongue. “You said we were friends, so - “

He never gets to finish, distracted by the sudden alertness in Kuroba’s eyes, and Saguru turns his head to see Baaya standing in the doorframe, one hand over her mouth. “My,” she says, Saguru suddenly extremely aware of the fact that he’s straddling Kuroba’s hips, one hand low down on his waist, faces still flushed from the previous exertion and how this is all going to look to her. “My apologies, Bocchama. Kuroba-kun.”

“It’s not what you think - “ But she is already leaving, and there’s a small smile on Kuroba’s lips, no doubt entirely at his expense, and the tension from before is quite thoroughly broken. “Ah. Bloody hell.”

“Is that why you keep her away on days I’m over?” Kuroba asks, batting his lashes at him. “So you can have your wicked way with me, Bocchama? Am I your kept secret?”

“Oh god.” Saguru groans. “Please stop.”

“I’m not the one sitting on me,” Kuroba points out, and Saguru hurries to get off him when a hand grabs him by the front of his shirt, hauling him back down. Saguru nearly falls over onto Kuroba, face just mere inches from Kuroba’s own, heart rate picking up once more when Kuroba’s gaze lowers to his lips and back up again. He isn’t… he isn’t, is he?

Whatever Kuroba is looking for, he seems to have found it, expression softening as he loosens his hold on Saguru’s shirt, smoothing the wrinkles back out with his hand. Still, Saguru doesn’t sit back. But he doesn’t lean forward, either. He waits.

“I think,” Kuroba whispers. “You already know why.”

::

New year, new classroom, new faces amongst the familiar, and Saguru ends up failing physical education class inexplicably along with Kuroba in the first quarter of the year. 

He’s still confused about it. Kuroba yawns as he laces on his running shoes, jogging on the spot to warm up. 

“I’m not so sure you should,” he says, remembering the new bandages he’d glimpsed when he had accidentally walked in on Kuroba changing into his dry clothes after being caught in the rain. “Maybe you should get a doctor’s certificate and opt out. It’s just a phys ed class.”

“Opt out of a 2.4KM run? Don’t be a baby. ‘Sides, I passed all my fitness tests. The only test that I failed was the paper one.” Kuroba bends down low to stretch his calf muscles. Saguru’s mouth going dry and he wishes his friend had opted for track pants instead of running shorts. “I’m only running to keep you company.”

“How on earth did you fail the paper test?” Saguru goggles at him as Kuroba leans forward to touch his toes slowly. “The questions weren’t difficult.”

“‘What is the name of the stand in for our Phys. Ed. teacher?’ How would I know?” Kuroba’s expression darkens into a scowl, and the unexpectedness of it has Saguru laughing. “Go on, laugh all you want. See if you ever pass Japanese History again.”

“It’s printed on your timetable, if you ever bothered to look.” Saguru grins. “I appreciate the thought, but I really don’t need the company. You should… sit out.”

“You’re only afraid that I will be faster than you.”

“As if,” Saguru scoffs, but the concern that he has for Kuroba’s health is genuine. “I really can’t stop you, can I?”

“Maybe I’ll run just half of the distance, then,” Kuroba says sullenly. “Just so you will stop coming at me like an old biddy. Stop  _ smiling _ .”

::

He loses Hakuba at some point after jogging over the bridge, and when he doesn’t show up after a minute or two of waiting, Kaito sighs gustily and retraces the route back. The weather is lovely - breezy with enough clouds that they wouldn’t be frying under the sun, and Kaito takes his time half jogging and half strolling back, his wound just a dull, steady bruise on his side. It isn’t as bad as Hakuba thinks it is, but he should take it easy, all the same. He finds Hakuba on the other side of the bridge, kneeling down and attending to something on the ground. It’s a cat, he realises as he nears. The creature is fat and black with slightly chewed out ears. There’s a soft smile on Hakuba’s face as he pets it, scratching it behind the ears. The scene is peaceful as Kaito slows to a stop before them.

“You’re going to get fleas.”

Hakuba doesn’t look up, the cat butting its head into his hand demandingly if he so much as stops. “He’s very large,” he says, admiringly. “Don’t you think?”

“I think that’s a normal size for cats.” The cat purrs, before turning lamp green eyes upon him. Crouching down, Kaito wriggles his fingers at it. “Here.”

The cat is affectionate, immediately pushing its head into his palm, guiding it down its back and Kaito laughs when a tail curls around his wrist. It’s much easier to focus on the cat than on Hakuba, who is watching the both of them with something like affection so stark it twists something painful in his chest. He wonders if Hakuba knows what he looks like, with the aching hunger bare in his eyes, affection in the soft curve of his lips, altogether painting a picture of longing so pitiful something in Kaito resonates with him. He expected  _ something _ , by now, but Hakuba has kept his distance, never doing anything more than is appropriate, even shying away from him on occasion. Kaito glances over, trying to memorise the way the sun slants over his hair, turning it golden and warm like honey, taking in the light dusting of freckles on his nose and cheeks, features he knows Hakuba thinks of as awkward and ungainly and which he can only think of as delicate and handsome. He wonders if Hakuba will ever grow into appreciating his own features and himself, and if he knows that underneath his projected smarm and arrogance lies someone just like him - clever, uncertain, lonely.

Kaito came to terms with the fact that he likes boys a long time ago, and it isn’t something that he’s made a secret of ever since finding out. Hakuba, as he’s come to realise over time, is the first boy he’s genuinely interested in, what little romantic life he had filled with fleeting crushes and general admiration. When he had realised this, he’d buried his interest under feigned indifference, understanding that for several good reasons it would never work out between them. It’s better off that they remain as they are - not quite friends, not quite enemies, but something else quite amiable and vague in between the two. If it ever comes to a confrontation, the last thing Kaito wants is for a relationship to muddy up the waters. He’s given up a lot for his father, for justice, but this is one of the very few things that he selfishly wants to keep, to hold close to his heart until it’s torn away from him, just like Aoko’s friendship. ‘This,’ he tells himself firmly, ‘is enough.’ It has to be enough, and he simply has to learn to be content with it, soothing his aching heart with maybes until it no longer keeps him up at night, his chest hollow with how harshly he strips away what sentimental emotions he has so he wouldn’t dare think that there is a possibility. 

Possibilities aren’t for people like him, who are destined for prison or worse. And besides, while he’s seen the interest in Hakuba’s eyes, he thinks that Hakuba deserves much better. Someone not a criminal, at least, who can still provide him with the same intellectual challenge Kaito does along with a healthy dose of normalcy and stability.

Next to him, oblivious to what is going through his head, Hakuba leans in closer to the stray to meow at it, the creature replying in kind, and it goes back and forth for a while before it loses its patience and sinks its claws into the fabric of Hakuba’s shoe. Hakuba laughs as it tugs sharply.

“You probably shouldn’t meow at it so much. You’d lose your patience if some idiot keeps going ‘Hi!’ at you constantly.” Kaito reaches to tap it on the shoulder, scratching it gently once more before standing back up. “You’re only through with 1.8KM, so if you - “ 

He’s cut off by a violent sneeze, startling the cat into running off in a streak of black.

“It’s getting cold,” Hakuba says, straightening from his crouch and shrugging off his windbreaker before draping it over Kaito’s shoulders. Kaito tensed up immediately. “You should head back before you get a cold. I’ll finish the remainder of the run by myself.”

“You’re supposed to run 2.4KM in one go, not split it up into two sections,” Kaito grouses. “And I’m  _ fine _ , don’t make me wear your clothes - “

He doesn’t get to finish before Hakuba is already zipping him up in it, trapping his arms against his sides and taking off immediately once the deed is done. Kaito shouts, squirming and trying to wriggle his arms back out. As Hakuba is a size bigger than him, there is some loose space that he can work with, and soon he is jogging after the fleeing detective, Hakuba always putting on speed to pull ahead whenever he gets too close. “ _ What on earth _ \- “

He’s much warmer by the time Hakuba slows to a stop, mildly out of breath and glaring at him. Hakuba is all smiles, already moving on into his cool down exercises and looking disgustingly fetching in his thin shirt and track pants, usually coiffed hair in a loose tousle and sweat dampening his fringe. 

“Take your disgusting windbreaker back,” Kaito says, when he gets his tongue back. “I won’t be seen wearing your clothes.”

“Why not? It’s cold out, you might get sick, and your attendance is  _ shite _ .” Hakuba speaks the last word in English, and Kaito is seized with the desire to both punch him and to kiss him. “You can return it to me tomorrow.”

“It’s got your  _ name tag _ on it. How old are you?” Kaito plucks at said name tag, but makes no move to remove it.

“Ah. You can bring it up to Baaya, if you like.”

That effectively shuts him up, and Kaito shoves his hands into the pockets of the jacket. It  _ is _ warmer with it on, and he can’t find it in him to put up a proper protest when the gesture was made out of concern for him. It’s still mildly embarrassing, however.

“See if you ever get it back,” he grumbles finally.

“Whenever you do decide to give it back, just wash it before you return it,” Hakuba says. He doesn’t see it again for two weeks.

By the time Kaito returns it washed and folded, it smells entirely like him.

::

“Hakuba, do you have a copy of -  _ what is that? _ ”

They’ve taken up an entire table to themselves in the library, Hakuba working away on his laptop while Kaito tries to complete his projects ahead of time as well as doing some light reading into other subjects of interest. The last time he had checked, Hakuba was writing up some kind of report, but now he is staring at his screen with his chin propped on a fist, earbuds wires trailing back down to the laptop as some kind of soap drama plays on the screen.

Mildly fascinated, Kaito watches with raised eyebrows as on screen, the male lead corners the female lead with a vaguely threatening pose in what looks like a library. Hakuba only looks up when he taps him on the shoulder, looking slightly guilty as he pauses the video. “Yes?”

“I had no idea that you watch this kind of drama.” Kaito leans against the back of Hakuba’s chair, and Hakuba tries to move away, likely embarrassed at being caught. “What is this?”

“I’m learning Chinese.” Pink suffuses Hakuba’s cheeks. The scene cuts to a lady clearly waiting for someone by the road, before a car plows right into her. “Don’t mind it.”

There’s a lot of wailing from the looks of it, as well as the promise of revenge, English subtitles playing out near the bottom of the video. Kaito coughs at the overly dramatic display of evidently-significant-character-number-two. “It’s fine. Whatever makes you happy.”

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Hakuba tries to explain, but it’s hard to take him or the drama seriously when it cuts back to the main female lead clearly crushing hard on the male lead when they’d just been a hair away from an argument earlier. “It’s stress-relieving, but some of the scenes are very draggy.”

“Interesting,” Kaito says, because he knows better by now than to imply anything negative about any of Hakuba’s hobbies and interests. “And how is your Chinese coming along?”

“还有得进步,” Hakuba says, whatever that means. “I’m mostly watching this because I’ve just finished my favourite the other day.”

‘Nerd,’ Kaito thinks, but not unkindly. “Invested?”

“Quite so. Romance seems to be a popular theme.” Hakuba minimizes the window of the video, and begins pulling up folders. “Do you want to see?”

War memories of Eurovision and Sherlock Holmes flash through Kaito’s mind, and by the time he comes up with a response it is too late. “Uhh.”

“Come here, I’ll show you my favourite scene.” Hakuba hands him one of the earbuds, and opens up the file, attempting to locate it. “Is the volume alright?”

The genre throws Kaito for a loop, having expected something much more intellectual. The scene opens in a doctor’s office at midnight, the doctor himself fast asleep on the examination table, a file still clutched in one hand as his assistant walks in with a cup of coffee from the dispensing machine.

“Romance?” Kaito mouths at Hakuba, who nods, and pulls him closer so that he isn’t pulling too hard on the wires. 

So: overworked, exhausted doctor plus concerned and also emotionally invested assistant. The assistant talks to the sleeping man, as is expected, but doesn’t steal a kiss. She leaves him sleeping with a blanket covering him and a Post-It stuck to his forehead, before sneaking quietly back out of the office. Kaito tilts his head at the screen.

“So what do you think?” Hakuba, who is warm presence next to him, murmurs. “I personally thought it could have gone better.”

“Do you mean having her - “ Kaito turns, just for Hakuba to close the scant inch between them to kiss him on the lips, his files held up before them to keep curious eyes from looking. He squeaks involuntarily, eyes going wide as his spine stiffens immediately, Hakuba’s other hand curls around his own where it rests on the chair, reassuring him.

It’s quick, chaste, but Kaito feels a bit of tongue against the seam of his lips before Hakuba pulls away, and...

And...

“Like that, yes.” Hakuba doesn’t let go, looking terribly hopeful but clearly also prepared for rejection based on the way he is steeling himself. A distant part of Kaito’s mind wishes that he would put down the folder, because it isn’t working to keep curious onlookers away since there’s a girl with her face entirely red and buried too closely into a book for her to be actually reading just one shelf away, and also because Hakuba’s hands are trembling, translating into a much more noticeable movement in the folder. The rest of his mind is screaming. “Was it… Did I read us wrong? Is this… unwanted?”

‘No,’ Kaito wants to say just as much as he wants to answer yes. The sound of his own heart beating is loud in his ears, and he’s dizzy, his gut churning sickeningly at the conflicting emotions in him. Hakuba is still watching him, and Kaito swallows, unable to look away.

“You’ll only be hurting yourself,” he croaks, Hakuba blinking slowly at him. “I’m not someone whom you should. Love.”

“Oh.” Hakuba pulls back, and there’s a sharp pain in Kaito’s chest at the small distance he’s already put between them. What he says next draws him short, however. “And here I was, thinking that you had a legit reason.”

He’s feeding his own words back to him, and Kaito can only stare at him in mute shock as Hakuba smiles mischievously at him. 

“Give me a chance. You don’t have to answer me right away. If you’re worried, you don’t have to reciprocate. I’ve thought long and hard about it, and I do love you, Kuroba. Though,” his hand squeezes Kuroba’s briefly. “I will stop if it is an inconvenience to you. You need only say the word.”

“It’s not.” Kaito is finding it very hard to breathe, much less to speak, the words sounding too rehearsed and plastic and yet meaning so  _ much _ to him. “An inconvenience. You will never be an inconvenience to me.”

“Now that you’ve said that, you can’t take it back. You are willing to give us a chance, then? Or me, at least?”

“If you’re masochistic enough to hurt yourself, I don’t see why I should stop you.” Kaito’s throat is dry, and he freezes again when Hakuba leans in once more. “Hakuba - “

“Ah,” Hakuba sighs, touching the tip of his nose to Kaito’s own. “But I’m not the only one with an easily injured heart. Excuses, Kaito, excuses.”

And maybe he should have fought him more, and maybe he should have listened to his head instead of his heart, but Kaito can’t find it in him to regret it when they kiss once more, just a dry brushing of lips as Hakuba traces words over his palm, closing his hand into a fist when he is done.

They’ll work it out.

**Author's Note:**

> I am aware Japan does not have a 2.4KM run exam requirement.  
> Set-squares are triangular rulers.  
> Mikan are oranges. But lately bananas are a more popular fruit.  
> I like bananas.  
> And what Taiwanese drama I've seen does look like that.  
> I don't think they picked the good ones to air.  
> Itching to write Kuroba disguised as a girl dating Hakuba.


End file.
